Sweat trickles down my body.
His eyes squint at the blinding sun.
Both me and him, holding a 45' to each other's heads.
The metal cool in our clammy hands.
So cold it burns.
"We don't have to do this and you know it."
"A bit cool tho innit," we shoot.
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Deadpan poems
Poetryquarantine really do be bringing out my artistic side tho this is a short compilation of intense situation scenarios ended with a dry humor sort of ending enjoy
